Seven Years
by Fandomninja1399
Summary: After Ron pays a visit, George write about the seven years of his life he remember the most. Short, sad, one shot.


**Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter and I never will. All rights go to the magical JK Rowling. **

George looked at the small black book, the pale hand holding it, and followed the arm to the freckled face of the man who was offering the book to him. George took it gingerly, holding the pages of many stories from everyone who had fought- and survived, at the Battle of Hogwarts. Pages and words and sentences were held in his rarely inactive hand.

"Just a couple of sentences." Ron said, gesturing to the book. "And sign your name. That's all he asks."

He, of course, was Harry Potter. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he had written a short memorial. Hermione, always eager for such words, had written a poem. She and Harry convinced Ron to write something as well, and his contribution was a reflection on how far the trio had come.

And now it was his turn.

Ron sensed he needed to be left alone, and grabbed his jacket. George waved at him from the shop's check out. He was almost out the door before he remembered something else. "When you're done," he called, not moving from his place by the wide doors, "send it to someone else."

George blinked, surprised, and Ron was gone.

"Well," He murmured. "I think I know what to do."

He took out his favourite quill, the brightly coloured one; from the Fwooper that he had seen when he and the rest of his family went to Egypt.

He only used to use it for when he was writing to Fred (when they were back home, they had a notebook by their bed so they wouldn't wake anyone else up when they talked all night), but now, he only used it when he was writing about Fred.

George opened the book, past the three other entries.

_There were seven years of my life I remember best. _George wrote. _And they were rarely easy, and they were mostly at Hogwarts, and they were all with Fred._

_ The first year was when we won the House cup for the First time. I remember Cheering along with everyone else, and we were so, so, loud, and we cornered Neville and called him amazing. Of course, back then; none of use would realize the true hero he would become. But it happened anyway, and we like to think, that maybe our compliment brought him a bit out of his shell. And I don't even have to write about the hugs Mum gave Ron, she nearly chocked him!_

_ The second year was when we found out Ginny nearly died. We had figured out that Ron would have gotten into trouble (and to think, we thought the worst was the flying car!), but Ginny __was__ is our baby sister. We wouldn't have joked about the chamber so much, if we knew what we were doing._

_ The third year was when we passed down the Marauders legacy to its rightful owner. Originally, we did it so Harry would have a way to sneak into Hogsmead, but then again, we wouldn't have given the map to just anybody, would we? We were going to pass it down to Ron, but we knew that Harry would share anyway._

_ The fourth year was when we found out that __He-Who-__ Voldemort was back. It was scary, I'll tell you that, and we were scared. But we believed Harry (I think, except for the first year, we always did), and we warned Lee before we left, and we tried to help Mum and Dad as much as we could._

_ The fifth year was when we became legends. We didn't walk out the doors; we flew out, with fireworks trailing behind us, and that one dragon chasing Umbridge out of the Great Hall. I never forgot the look on her face. Mum wasn't proud of us, dropping out of school, but to be honest, I think Dad was. _

_ The sixth year was when we saw our little brother was growing up. He was dating a girl in his year, and he was snogging, and he wasn't the little kid that broke Fred's toy broomstick. And in the winter holidays, the same year, he killed a spider, all by himself. And I we were startled, and confused, but we gave him traditional present his next birthday, anyway. _

George knew his checks were wet with tears, and he knew he couldn't continue here. He hurriedly wiped his face, asked Verity to manage the casher, and walked to the small flat upstairs.

Placing the book on his bedside table, he wrote the next eight words:

_The seventh year was when we became I._


End file.
